


Till the Sun Grows Cold and the Stars Grow Old

by readytofangirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catelyn Stark Doesn't Hate Jon Snow, F/M, Gendry is a Baratheon, Gendrya - Freeform, Jon Snow Doesn't Join the Night's Watch, No Incest, Other, Prince Gendry, Stark Siblings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-01-24 13:13:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18572215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readytofangirl/pseuds/readytofangirl
Summary: Jon Arryn died of natural causes in his old age, leading King Robert Baratheon to head North to Winterfell to see his old friend, Eddard Stark.Robert and Cersei had tolerated each other enough in the beginning of their marriage to produce legitimate children, having some sort of mutual understanding.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so i would really appreciate not being skinned alive. If you have any thoughts, opinions or suggestions, it will be more than welcomed.
> 
> English is not my first language, so I apologise in advance if some of the sentences and grammar is a bit wonky.
> 
> Age Changes  
> \- Robb and Jon -22  
> \- Sansa - 20  
> \- Arya - 18  
> \- Bran - 17  
> \- Rickon - 14
> 
> __________________________________________________________________

** WINTERFELL **

 

Arya has decided that she despises Robert of House Baratheon, The First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

 

It was entirely his fault that she is currently being held captive within the walls of the Winterfell instead of gallivanting across the north on the Dornish sand steed that had been gifted to her by her father for her last name day. Ever since the raven came announcing the King’s visit north, it has been increasingly difficult for her to escape from her ‘duties’ as a lady.

 

Her mother has taken a particular liking to dragging her around, making sure Arya tags along in whatever activity she or Sansa had decided upon. Surprisingly enough, the activities did become more endurable with Sansa present, as she and Arya having made amends and grown closer as they have gotten older. Sansa no longer looked at her little sister with disapproval and embarrassment, understanding that that is who she is, while Arya no longer saw Sansa as the naive and wishful lady she once was. She had even gone as far as help create a distraction to help Arya slip out unnoticed to go help Rickon with his aim, as Robb and Jon had done for her.

 

Septa Mordane, however, has barely let Arya out of her sight, watching her like a crow, making it damn near impossible to go out to the training yard to spar with her brothers. Not to mention that all the guards have been notified to keep the wolf-blooded girl from escaping into the wild country, royally pissing her off, as she have had to make the additional effort in sneaking around unnoticed.

 

The preparation for the royal party’s arrival have also been a rather unpleasant and hectic ordeal for everyone in Winterfell. With Lady Stark demanding the castle be in impeccable shape, and a seemingly endless flow of supplies being delivered from both White Harbour and the Kingsroad, the servants have been constantly bustling around the usually quite peaceful North.

 

Furthermore, Arya had come to the conclusion that she has undoubtedly tried on more dresses this past moon, than she has in the entirety of the eight and ten years she had been alive, her mother insisting that an abundance of new dresses be made for both her daughters in order to look more presentable for the King and his family. Arya doubts it would make a bloody difference what she looked like once she opens her mouth, as she has certainly earned her title as the fierce She-Wolf of the North.

 

The boys have not escaped unscathed either, for which she is eternally grateful. Robb, Bran, Rickon, and even Jon have all been forcefully groomed and clothed in more decorative entire than what would be considered comfortable or necessary for the rough northmen. Robb especially, had been given more attention than usual, as the princess would make a suitable match for the young heir of Winterfell, especially now that Sansa is no longer an option to join their house to the Iron Throne.

 

However, unlike Arya, he has mother’s leave to roam around as he pleased. And though he had scoffed at the unfairness of the situation, Robb had wisely opted to remain silent on the matter. Fearing of getting the same treatment as his little sister. There is little Arya can do now to change her mind. She had even gone as far as pleading to the Lord of Winterfell himself, only managing to get a few moments outside with half a dozen guards to make sure she doesn’t get any notions to escape before the royal party arrives.

 

So here she was, climbing out her window as a last act of defiance before the torturous visit, steadily making her way down the wall in the attire she had stolen from Bran earlier that week. With Needle at her hip, a knife in her boot, as well as a bow and quiver of arrow strapped on her back, she quietly crept towards the Godswood to meet up with her brothers to go on one last hunt before the King’s arrival.

 

She heard the distant howling of their wolves and picked up the pace already seeing the shadows of her siblings through the trees. Arya barrelled straight onto Bran, jumping on his back, startling him enough to almost drop her on the ground.

 

“Get off Arry,” Bran chuckled, “just because I’m bigger than you now, doesn’t mean you got to assault me.”

 

She laughed, slowly sliding off her brother who has irritatingly grown a head taller than her within the last year. She let out a huff as she landed on the ground, not failing to notice how Robb was trying, and failing, to contain his laughter at his sibling’s antics.

 

“Well here you go,” Jon said as he came up behind her with her horse in tow, all saddled up, handing her the reins.

 

“Thank you,” Arya replied as she mounted with ease, “We better get going then before mother realises I have escaped, yet again. I reckon Sansa will not be able to keep her occupied for long and I plan to be as far away from her wrath as possible.” With that Arya took off.

 

She let out a howl, prompting her wild boys and their wolves to follow suit, enjoying the little time she has left before she is required to act like someone she is not.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Don’t get me wrong, I love Maisie, but because I aged Arya up quite a bit, I ‘recasted’ her to try and fit better in the story. I hope you all don’t mind. Not exactly what I had in mind, but pretty close.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope some of you enjoyed the last chapter 
> 
> Ages of the Baratheon kids  
> \- Gendry - 21  
> \- Joffrey - 20  
> \- Myrcella - 18  
> \- Tommen -16

 

**WINTER TOWN**

 

Gendry has decided that he is fed up with his father, Robert of House Baratheon, The First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

 

 

His father is, at the moment, rather occupied with the Winter town whores, while his lady mother has confined herself inside the lavish wheelhouse, drowning in cups of arbour red, probably to compensate for the time they will lose while playing nice once they step through the gates of Winterfell. It is after all important for the King and Queen to present unity in front of their people, or so it is according to the late Hand of the King, Jon Arryn.

 

 

Sure they were civil with one another, most of the time, Gendry could swear that he remembered some moments from his childhood where they had even seemed rather fond of each other, though he wasn’t delusional enough to ever think that what his parents have is anywhere close to love. However, they respected each other to an extent and being the Crown Prince, Gendry could only hope to have at least that in his inevitable union to some faceless daughter ( see what I did there ;D ) of a powerful lord, one that would be chosen for the kingdom, more so than for him.

 

 

He figured that Joffrey was probably off tormenting some poor servant that had displeased him in one way or another, while Tommen was most likely rather occupied with his training. It is either that or he is yet again harassing Ser Barristan, the young lad of six and ten very much aspiring to become a knight. Gendry shook his head and chuckled as he thought of Ser Barristan trying to maintain his countenance at Tommen’s enthusiastic questions. With a sigh he went to go see what Myrcella was up to, rather fancying the idea of being in the company of his younger sister, instead of standing around for his father to notice he wasn’t enjoying the available ‘accommodations.’

 

 

It is often a surprise to many when they realise Gendry did not inherit his father’s never-ending hunger for women, considering how much the prince resembles the king in his youth. The uncanny resemblance is made abundantly clear whenever Gendry wields his war hammer into battle atop his large black destrier. The truth is that he didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of fucking just about any maiden he happens to come across, having no interest in completing what his father has told him was called “making the eight.”

 

 

He headed to the inn, as he figured she would most likely be occupied caring for the litter of kittens he had found and brought back for her the day before, though it is Tommen that Gendry knew secretly found the most enjoyment amongst the small kittens. It was no surprise, considering that Ser Pounce had sadly not been permitted to come on their journey North, as the cold would certainly not be good for their rather old and fat cat.

 

 

“Gendry, come look,” Myrcella said as she spotted him entering the modest establishment, beckoning him to come closer. He compliantly moved forward, sitting down beside her by the open fireplace, smiling fondly as she picked up one of the four kittens and nuzzled it to her chest. “This one finally stopped shivering,” she told him, scooting closer and leaning on him,as she handed him the kitten and picked up another from the bundle of blankets she had made to resemble a nest.

 

 

“Have you been here all day? Because I could have sworn mother was looking for you,” he jested, giving her a little shove before settling down and leaning against the stone wall.

 

 

“Please,” she rolled her eyes at him, “I would be shocked if she even remembers I came on this trip at this point. I’m sure she is rather distracted thinking about Joff and how she wouldn’t want her precious lion anywhere near these barbaric wolves.”

 

He snorted at her reply, knowing how true her statement probably was. He glanced down at her and saw her try to contain her smile, failing miserably as she let out a laugh that carried across the room. They both knew that Joffrey was by far their mother’s favourite child, with the rest of them being ‘too Baratheon.’ As though,Joffrey had the same raven black hair and deep blue eyes as the rest of them, he was in all but name a Lannister in their mothers eyes. He was slender and lean, with a pretty face that strongly resembled their Uncle Jaime, as opposed to his brothers who are more powerfully built with sharper features. This is not to say that she didn’t love the rest of them, its just that they rarely ever see eye to eye.

 

 

It goes beyond appearances though, as Joffrey never did seem to fit in with the rest of the Baratheon children, being rather cruel at times to not only servants, but also his younger siblings, especially Tommen. This has causedhim to be quite isolated from the rest of his family, not sharing the bond that existed between the rest of them, leading him further into the grasp of their mother. It is understood that Cersei wanted Casterly Rock for Joffrey, as Jaime had relinquished his right as the Heir of the Rock when he became a member of the Kingsguard, even though it should rightfully go to Tyrion. She has been pushing the idea on her father, much to the distress of the Lannister patriarch, as though he despises the idea of Tyrion becoming his successor, he isn’t particularly fond of his grandson ruining the legacy he had built, seeing Joffrey as little more than an insolent child.

 

 

They sat in silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other's company, listening to crackling of the fire and the soft purring of the tiny kittens. Myrcella slowly gazed up at Gendry, a nervous smile plastered on her face as she broke the silence, “Do you think father is considering a betrothal between one of us and the Starks? I know he was in love with one andNed Stark is his best friend, it would make a whole lot of sense, don’t you think?”

 

 

“I don’t think it would be that bad,” Gendry smiled at her reassuringly, “They say Robb Stark is a brave warrior, surely as honourable as his lord father,if you were to be paired off, I would not think it to be such a bad match. Mother has prolonged any of us getting wed for as long as she can, with you being eight and ten now, there is nothing any of us can do if father decides it is to be done.” He stood up slowly offering her his hand, “But just between the two of us, if you find him unworthy of you, I would not mind arranging a hunting trip that would go terribly wrong,” sending her a wink.

 

 

“You wound me brother,” she replied dramatically smirking at the much taller prince, taking his hand and pulling herself up to her feet, “as if I wouldn’t be able to take care of it myself.”

 

 

He let out a booming laugh that echoed through the room, sending more than a few glances their way. “When did you grow so cold? Surely my sweet, innocent sister would not be capable of such diabolical ideas,” he shot back at her with mock astonishment laced in his voice.

 

 

“What can I say,” she coyly said, “must be the Lannister in me.” With that Myrcella turned around and started to walk out of the inn, all four kittens in her arms, leaving an amused Gendry standing by the fire. “Are you coming or what?” she called to him, turning around as she reached the door, “I think I rather fancy a ride and surely a chivalrous prince, such as yourself, will not let a poor maiden wander off alone.”

 

 

She did not need to say another word, Gendry already scrambling to follow his sister out the door. He threw his arms around her shoulders and looked down at her, “Lets go find Tommen, shall we?”So off they went, arm in arm, enjoying one last moment of freedom before they arrive through the gates of Winterfell.

 

________________________________________________________________________________________

 

These are my fancast for the true born Baratheon children.

 

Myrcella

 

 

 

Tommen

 

 

Joffrey, but a bit older than the actor in the picture  

 

^ Joffrey wouldn't actually fight in a war, but I liked how he looked angry. I find it quite funny (but also fitting) that his armour is "lannister red with a lion." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, if you have any thoughts or suggestions, comments are more than welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that some of you are enjoying this story :)

 

**THE WOLFWOOD**

 

The cold winds howled through the tall trees in Wolfswood, the soft fluttering of leaves overhead being the only sound that could be heard for miles. The sun barely pierced through the thick veil of the canopy, allowing her to hide in the obscure shadows. She crouched lower to the ground as they approached to surround the wild boar in the clearing. She looked to her right to see Jon a few feet away, positioning himself to cut off the boar’s route in the event that it tries to flee. Bran nodded silently at her, standing behind the tree to the left of her as he started to move further away, sword at hand. She scanned the area, trying to locate where exactly Robb was positioned, but to no avail. The best she could tell was that he was somewhere on the other side of the boar. It didn’t really matter anyway, she trusted him to be where they needed him to be.

 

 

The wolves were not far. Undoubtedly stalking the perimeter, as they often did when accompanying the siblings out on hunts. They would often venture off on their own little hunts, not staying away for too long, both parties preferring to remain within close proximity with their respective companions. She could feel Nymeria close by, watching her through the trees, ready to jump in if things get out of hand.

 

 

They had been out all morning, having left Winterfell right after breaking their fast after dawn. Their absence has undoubtedly been noticed by now, especially with the King and his court due to arrive at any moment. Her lady mother would be beside herself right now, with more than half her children missing somewhere out in the woods. She might have even been the slightest bit worried for Jon, Arya knowing that somewhere deep down she did care about her husband’s bastard son. Arya couldn’t find herself to care though, merely enjoying her time with her wild brothers without anyone breathing down her neck, feeling only somewhat guilty about leaving Dom to suffer through the day alone.

 

 

She slowly crept closer to the beast, careful to keep her footsteps quite on the fresh snow. She drew back her bowstring, letting out a steady breath as she aimed for the the small area on the boar's thick, grizzled shoulder that would allow for her arrow to pierce into the heart. As she released the string, letting the arrow fly, a loud horn sounded in the distance, causing the beast to lurch. The arrowhead had pierced its leg, causing the boar to let out a cry, when Robb leapt out and finished him off with his hunting knife.

 

 

“Something happen to your aim, Arry? I thought Jon and I thought you better than that,” he teased with mock disappointment, a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he hauled the boar onto his broad shoulders.

 

 

“Please,” she rolled her eyes, seeing Robb struggling to keep it together, “I would like to see you two try and outshoot me.” Sending him a wink, she started walking back to where they had tied up their horses, not looking back as the boys doubled over with laughter that echoed through the northern air. She turned around to see Robb trying his very best to look appalled at his sister’s response, Jon and Bran practically rolling over as they saw his face. “You lads comin’ or what? We better hurry if we want to beat the King to Winterfell. I bet I can get before any of you lads,” she said.

 

 

“Oh, you’re on,” Bran replied, easily mounting his horse. They took off through the forest, leaving Robb and Jon to scramble onto their respective horses. It was tremendously unfair seeing as Robb was currently carrying a near 200 pound boar, but alas, that didn’t stop Jon from simply laughing at his brother as he left him to deal with the animal.

 

 

“You have got to be shitting me,” he groaned. Throwing the the boar over his horse, Robb dug his heals onto the side of his steed, prompting the beast to chase after his siblings. Letting out a sharp whistle, he beckoned the wolves to run after them, hearing the chorus of howls reply to his call. Greywind was soon at his heels, running alongside his horse as he raced to catch up to the rest of his pack, the cold wind billowing against his face as he gained speed.

 

 

 

***********************************

 

 

**THE KINGSROAD**

 

 

Myrcella gazed out of the wheelhouse, admiring the beautiful, rugged landscape of the North. Once again, it amazed her how the liberating it felt, with the vast wilderness, pine-covered hills and snow-capped mountains, stretching as far as the eye can see. The unyielding cold seemingly purifying the frosted air, a welcomed change from what she was used to in King’s Landing, with the stench of shit hanging in the air, weighed down by the unbearable heat.

 

 

She longed to escape the wheelhouse, wishing to ride alongside her brothers as they pass through the gates of Winterfell, but to no avail. Cersei had been rather insistent about having Myrcella ride with her, stating the impropriety of a princess riding in with the men. It seems wholly unfair, having heard of how the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark is permitted to ride and fight with the northmen. She bore a great admiration for the She-Wolf, knowing that she does not bow down to the constraints of society and the expectations that come with being a highborn lady. It has been said that she has become quite the beauty as well, being the very image of the late Lyanna Stark, leading her to fend off the various suitors that have come to court her. Many men, young and old, have wished to tame her, wanting to claim the remaining daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North.

 

 

The eldest daughter, Sansa Stark, is famed to be a great beauty, with bright red hair like glowing embers and eyes as blue as a crystal clear stream. Those who have visited Winterfell, sing of the perfect lady, graceful and tall. When word spread that she had been wed to Domeric Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, men from all the Seven Kingdoms wept, as she is forever tied down to the desolated North.

 

 

Myrcella let out a small giggle as she thought of endless rumours surrounding the mysterious Starks, the unprompted noise drawing some stares from the ladies inside the carriage. She couldn’t find herself to care though, continuing to stare out of the window as the castle in the distance grew closer and closer. It was well into the afternoon, and she was counting down the minutes that she would be free from being confined in a small space with her mother and her disapproving stare, which may or may not be caused by the northern way she had worn her hair to greet the people of Winterfell. Most of her dark hair remained unbound in its natural wavy state, with small parts from each side of her head pulled back and braided. She had even made a crown from some wild flowers she had found on her ride with Gendry that morning, which was now placed atop her head, having argued to her mother that it was a symbol of her brother’s affection for her.

 

 

As she observed the approaching ancestral seat of House Stark, she could’ve sworn she saw four figures racing through the gate. Amused by the strange scene that had disappeared as quickly as she had seen it, Myrcella let her mind wonder off, her head lulling with the swaying motions of the wheelhouse.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Domeric Bolton

\- Age change - 24

 

 

 

 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Edit after seeing Season 8 episode 4:

 

HOLY SHITTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!! I'M FREAKING OUT. GENDRY AND ARYA. JAIME AND BRIENNE. MISSANDEI. RHAEGAL. CERSEI. I KNEW IT ABOUT DAENERYS.

^those who watched already know exactly what I mean.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I would love to hear what you think of the chapter. Suggestions would be more than welcomed. Next chapter is when they finally meet.
> 
> I might not update next week, because I am going through exams all through this week and next. (just in case anyone is wondering about updates)
> 
> I'm really sorry if some of the grammar or sentence structures sound weird. English is not my first language, so I hope you understand :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait, if anyone was waiting for this story to be updated. I finished my exams last week and never gotten around to writing right after. I hope this chapter can make up for it as it is longer than my usual chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading the story:)

**WINTERFELL**

 

They rode through gates at full speed, swiftly dismounting and handing the reigns of their horses to the waiting stable boys that have undoubtedly been placed there by Catelyn, who had anticipated their unruly return. Arya went to stand next to Lady who was to the right of Sansa, rubbing at her jerkin which had splatters of blood from the rabbits they caught earlier that day. She was avoiding meeting her mother’s eyes, wanting none of her complaints about the inappropriate attire she is wearing to greet the royal family. Arya knew that her mother was certainly disappointed that her daughter wasn’t adorned in the lovely blue dress laid out on her bed that would enhance some of her womanly curves.

 

 

She wearily spared a glance at her father who met her eyes with a look of amusement. She could tell he was struggling to keep up the stoic façade, wanting to avoid being chastised by his wife alongside his children. The image of her lord father being scolded by his Southron wife was truly a sight that she would not mind to see, the mere thought of it making her snort under her breath. Looking to her sides she saw her siblings lined up, the massive direwolves dutifully standing proud next to their respective companions. Lady, of course, did not follow in her siblings example, instead sitting prettily, nuzzled against Sansa.

 

 

Arya silently caught her sister’s eye, sending her an apologetic look, hoping Sansa would get the message. She didn’t need to be there to know that her motherhave been questioning Sansa relentlessly to try and locate her other children. Arya even threw a look at Dom, feeling bad about excluding him, leaving him at the mercy of his good mother. Catelyn would surely have tried to inquire more about the possibility of him and Sansa ‘producing an heir’ without her, Robb and Bran there to act as a distraction. Dom merely rolled his eyes, while Sansa, though still quite upset, let out a small huff and gave her a knowing smile.

 

 

The visitors began to pour into the castle gates in a flash of colours. An army of knights, bannermen, sworn swords, ladies and lords alike, fell in under the gold and black banners of the Baratheon house. Arya recognised a few of the riders. A gallant knight led the party, though older than most of the men looked strong, carrying himself with a certain grace. She immediately identified him as Barristan the Bold, the skilled knight being one of legends.

 

 

After him, a golden man in glistening armour rode through. He had a magnificent long sword strapped to his hip with the pommel shaped liked a lion’s head, no doubt this was Ser Jaime Lannister, the queen’s twin brother. Her conclusion was made even more apparent when a small impish man rode in beside the knight, it could not be anyone but Tyrion Lannister himself. The pair of brothers was were followed by a lean, young man with a crown atop his head and a sneer plastered on his face. That would have to be Prince Joffrey, the second son to the King, Arya thought. There was no way it could be the crown prince, as stories have said him to be broad and strong, with a figure that towers over most men. He could not be Prince Tommen either, as he did look a few years older than herself.

 

 

She looked over to Sansa to see her grip tighten around Domeric’s arm. Arya was no stranger to the history between her sister and the prince, and was glad that Sansa standing between Dom and Lady to offer her some security. The two had met a few years ago while Sansa was fostering at Highgarden with the Tyrells, concurrent with the time Arya spent in Bear Island with the Mormonts. Sansa had been sent away during the discussion of her betrothal to one of Mace’s sons. Mother had wanted at least one of her children to be married to the South and she was, at the time, most suited for the arrangement. Though the deal was never struck, she did become very good friends with Margaery Tyrell, as well as Garlan and Loras. Sansa had left her stay with quite a number of fond memories, though her run in with the prince is not amongst them.

 

 

Prince Joffrey had been forward regarding his interest with both the Stark and Tyrell girls. It was quite obvious that he took pleasure in the attention most young ladies would pay him and do not hesitate to indulge in it. Arya could see it for herself as she saw Jeyne Poole and a few other ladies giggle at the young man, the prince seemingly sitting up straighter, jutting out his chest. She couldn’t deny that she saw the appeal he may have to most girls. He had raven black hair that contrasted his green-tinted, blue eyes, and features that made him prettier than most ladies. Arya knew that Sansa had been, at first, rather enamoured with the dashing, dark prince. However, her perception of him did not last very long as she started to see the man behind the handsome exterior. An unsettling chill passing through her body every time he looked at her, taking in her body as if to devour it with those unwelcomed, leering eyes. Margaery did not seem to mind. Her increasing advances towards the prince had made it very easy for Sansa to slip away unnoticed.

 

 

Arya saw Domeric shift slightly, moving closer to Sansa at a particular angle to try and block her from Joffrey’s line of sight. She gave him a grateful nod, appreciating her good brother’s attempts to make her sister more comfortable. She was pleased to know that Sansa had shared her experience with her husband, as Arya knew she had told no one apart from herself, not wanting to cause any trouble or bad blood between their houses. Arya could see the immediate change as Sansa visibly relaxed, letting out a rather shaky breath. Sansa had apparently seen her burning look and sent her a small reassuring smile. The horde continued to pile in with hundreds of faceless men marching into Winterfell. Carriages, wagons and wheelhouse were all rolled into the courtyard in an endless train, snapping her attention away from her sister and back to the gates.

 

 

That was when she caught sight of a giant man, easily over six and a half feet tall, with a mighty war hammer strapped to his back. Arya could tell that unnaturally strong with his large shoulders and a musclebound body, though evidently worn down by age. The once black hair was now adorned with streaks of grey and his face sported some wrinkles around the slightly faded blue eyes, but it was still clear as day that this was the man her father had spoken of. He was Robert of the House Baratheon, The First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. She could easily imagine him twenty years earlier, leaner and brighter, but with just as much of a presence that commanded attention. Behind the King, rode in that very image.

 

 

The young man had the striking, deep blue eyes and the same thick, dark hair the colour of coal that seemed to be a trait shared amongst the Baratheons. He bore a large, heavy-looking war hammer, much like the one the King has, slung over his back, while carrying a sword at his hip. Arya watched him as they approached, enamoured by his warm face which contrasts so strongly with the expressions on the face of his sneering brother. They say that he is kind and honourable, rumours of his care for the small folk had spread far and wide. Looking at him now she was quite certain they were true. She saw him offer a sincere smile to the children that stood by the gate, giving them a small wave before once again facing forward to maintain formalities. He had even acknowledged the guards, giving them a respectful nod that made them stand up straighter.

 

 

He scanned the courtyard taking in the strange new place, his eyes landing on her parents. It was clear that he was fascinated by her father, it was no surprise as she knew how it felt to finally see someone that you have been hearing about for your entire life. When he finally tore his eyes away, his gaze moved towards Robb, stopping for a few seconds before continuing down the line to Sansa and Domeric. When his eyes finally caught hers, she found herself unable to look away. It seems that the prince felt similarly as his stare lingered on her for a few moments, before giving his head a slight shake and dismounting, making his way towards the carriage to help his mother and sister down.

 

 

***********************************

 

 

Gendry took in the unfamiliar surroundings as he rode in behind his father. He looked to Tommen, who was riding next to him, and chuckled to himself as he watched emotions flit across his brother’s face faster than he thought possible, morphing from enthralled to elated to intrigued. Gendry had grown very fond of the North during the month long journey from King’s Landing. He rather appreciated the harsh brutality of the whether that reminded him so much of their rather straight-forward people.

 

 

It has been a breath of fresh air, not only in the literal sense, to interact with the quite brash and very open Northmen. They were so different from the people in the South, seemingly having and entirely different set of values and culture ingrained into them. It was a pleasure to see them act so freely, instead of being restrained by forbearing manners and mere courtesies. Things that would be considered idle notions in the capital such as honour and loyalty, are so evidently seen through not only the Lords, but also the small folk. The heir to the Seven Kingdoms never quite felt at home in King’s Landing, preferring to distance himself from court. He rather spend his time in Storm’s End and Dragonstone, even preferring Casterly Rock. As far as he was concerned, the further away he was from the simpering ladies and the power hungry lords the better.

 

 

He was excited to talk to the blacksmith at Winterfell, having heard it was a man called Mikken. He had wanted to inquire about the differences in armour and blades, seeing the arms that the men wore seem to be of a much more modest design than what he was used to seeing. Gendry had spent a significant amount of time working under Tobho Mott, the master armourer and blacksmith in King’s Landing, and had taken a liking to smithing. He had been exploring the streets of Flee Bottom as a young boy when he just happened to run across the man in the Street of Steel. His father had thankfully allowed him to indulge in this interest and gave him leave to apprentice under the smith, as long as he still performed all his duties as the Crown Prince.

 

 

His father’s council had advised the King against the decision, thinking it unwise to let the heir of the kingdom frolic around with commoners. Robert had thought nothing of it, stating that if anything it would be good for the boy. The only other person who had agreed was the late Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, who had said it would give him a perspective on the lives of his people. Tobho Mott had graciously agreed to the arrangement, as long as he was able to treat Gendry like any other apprentice, not wanting the constant thought of the royal to interfere with his work.

 

 

The crowd was still as they received the arriving party. His eyes scanned the courtyard taking in the castle, stopping as they fell on a solemn looking man who had to be Lord Eddard Stark. The man was just as Gendry had imagined with long brown hair and eyes the colour of steel, his long face bore a closely-trimmed beard that had begun to grey much like his own father’s.

 

 

Gendry had heard his fair share of stories about the Lord Paramount from his father. They had been fostered together in the Vale under the tutelage of Jon Arryn and had been close companions. His father had recounted stories about their youths ever since Gendry was a young child, telling him of how he and Ned would go on adventures at the Vale. As he got older, the stories of fond childhood memories morphed into tales of war. Their conquest being one that would be sung about for thousands of years.

 

 

The Starks were all lined up, each with a massive direwolf standing at their side. The biggest of them had smoke grey fur and yellow eyes, no doubt being Grey Wind, Robb Stark’s direwolf, as the heir of Winterfell was standing beside the creature. He had heard stories of their feats in battle, as they put down a wildling rebellion a few years ago. Their prowess made even more apparent when they took down the Bolton Bastard and his men almost single-handedly, while Lord Stark was at the Wall. Gendry then moved down the line to see Lady Sansa and her husband, Lord Domeric, before he finally settled on a pair of grey eyes staring back at him, Arya Stark.

 

 

He was intrigued by the small girl, raising his eyebrows slightly, as he noticed she was looking back at him. She stared openly and confidently, tilting her head at him, as opposed to the blush and quiet giggle that usually followed when his eyes catch a lady’s. She wore leathers and fur that have been undoubtedly bloodied by a hunt and had a skinny blade strapped at the hip and a bow, as well as an almost empty quiver, slung across her back. She stood proud, not seeming to mind her attire, making him laugh under his breath. He gave his head a small shake as he scolded himself for being so fascinated by a girl he just met, there was just something about her.

 

 

With that he dismounted from his horse and made his way to the wheelhouse to help his mother.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I would love to hear what you think of the chapter, suggestions would be more than welcomed and a kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Next chapter PoV will be mostly Robb and Myrcella.
> 
> I'm still not over game of thrones ending. AHHHH


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. I know its been four months since I last updated, but I hope that some of you are still interested in this story. I had decided to take a small break after my exams and while i was at summer camp, but it turned out to be longer than I anticipated. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the long wait, if anyone was waiting for this story to be updated. I hope you enjoyed reading the story:)

**WINTERFELL**

 

Myrcella let out a sigh of relief as the wheelhouse came to an abrupt stop. She silently thanked all the gods, old and new, that she did not have to spend another second in the small confinements with the simpering ladies of the court and her queen mother. Having been locked up all morning with no means to escape had nearly driven her mad.

 

 

The doors of the suffocating carriage was flung open to reveal a glorious sight, as hundreds upon hundreds of men, wagons and horses poured through the gates. Taking in the surroundings with a sense of wonderment, she barely noticed as one of the stablehands ran to place a stepping stool to help them dismount. All the ladies quickly readied themselves, gathering what little belongings they had on them and fixing hair and clothing that might have been jostled on the ride.

 

 

Within a few seconds, her mother was presented by a hand to help her down gracefully with ease, surprisingly coming from her elder brother. Gendry had seemingly appeared out of thin air, as she had seen him riding behind their father mere moments ago. She noticed that Joffrey had already started sneering at the more modest castle, rolling her eyes as he stuck up his nose.

 

 

Though by right, Myrcella should have stood and climb out behind her mother, she remained seated, patiently waiting for everyone else to tumble out in front of her. She was more than happy to let the silly girls trip over themselves as her brother helped them down, laughing quietly at the rather amusing sight. Myrcella rolled her eyes as she saw her brother’s blatant obliviousness to the effect he had on the young ladies.

 

 

Their obnoxious giggling only grew louder as they caught sight of Lord Stark’s sons, certainly coming to the conclusion that any one of them would make a fine suitor. It is unlikely that their efforts would be the slightest bit successful, she thought to herself. The youngest, whom she believed was called Rickon, was betrothed to Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island. The match had been made while one of the Lord’s daughters was fostered there. The she-wolf had gotten on famously with the rough bears and thought that her wild brother would as well. The second son, Bran Stark, would most likely be matched with one of the daughters of his father’s bannermen, that is if he ever did take a wife.

 

 

Then there was the heir to Winterfell himself, the infamous Young Wolf. Myrcella thought that Robb Stark would most definitely not be interested in a meek Southron lady either. He was born and raised in the North where there are harsh winters and howling winds, with women such as Dacey Mormont and his own sister, surely a submissive and dainty wife would not be to his liking. Furthermore, a pretty lass with no capability to think for herself would be most ill-suited for the future Lord Paramount of the North.

 

 

Finally standing up, Myrcella took her brother’s hand to help her dismount the slightly rocking carriage with the poise expected of a princess. Shooting Gendry a smile and a few words of gratitude, she hooked her arm through the crook of his elbow and took a deep breathe. Arm in arm, the two siblings slowly made their way to stand with the rest of the royal family.

 

 

Myrcella had initially noticed that all the Stark children, apart from the younger daughter, favoured the Tully look. However, as they had gotten closer, she began to notice certain features that resembled their father which have been concealed by their distinct colouring. All but one of them bore expressions that mirrored the patriarch of the house. They all had their jaws clenched, eyes focused straight ahead, radiating an icy, but strangely welcoming presence.

 

 

The single child whom stood in striking contrast to the rest of the pack was cozied up against the smallest of the massive direwolves. Her red curls flowing in neat waves, exhibiting a polarity from her unruly sibling, whom were adorned in riding leathers with weapons strapped to their person.

 

 

The people of Winterfell dropped to their knees as the King vaulted off his war horse. Myrcella saw her father merely gesture for all of them to rise, damning any sense of propriety. “You got old,” he said bluntly, eyeing the Lord. Eddard Stark simply looked him over, top to bottom, raising a stern eyebrow, coaxing a booming laughter to erupt from both men.

 

 

“Ned!” her father exclaimed, embracing his closest friend into a bone-crushing hug, his voice echoing throughout the courtyard. “It’s great to see that frozen face of yours,” he said, taking a step back to better inspect his friend.

 

 

“Likewise, your grace,” Lord Stark replied formally, “it has been far too long.”

 

 

“Sod off, Ned,” her father said jovially, shaking his head, “I will have none of this. Just because we haven’t seen each other in a few blasted years, doesn’t make us strangers, For goodness sakes, I’ve seen you get piss, poor drunk and…”

 

 

“Yes, Robert, there’s no need to relive that horrid incident,” familiarity finally from the previously stoic voice. “I’m sure that the people of Winterfell need not know of what their Lord and their King was up to in their youth.”

 

 

Her father let out another thundering laugh, “Of course, of course.” He then turn to the Lord’s left, where a beautiful stood. She was a different sort of beautiful than her mother. Where Cersei was striking and stunningly, with her golden hair and emerald eyes, this women was regal and poised in her beauty, with high cheekbones and a certain timelessness about her. “Cat,” he greeted, embracing her in a hug much to informal for a King, “you haven’t changed a bit.”

 

 

“That’s very kind of you to say your grace, but I’m sure most would disagree,” the woman quipped back as they separated, giving a small smile to her husband’s closest confidant.

 

 

Her father then turned to Lord Stark’s other side, “You must be Robb.”

 

 

“Yes, your grace,” the eldest of the Stark children replied, bowing his head ever so slightly.

 

 

Myrcella studied the young man, his stance assured and confident, but unlike that of her brother’s, it did not display a sense of arrogance. He radiated a strong presence that seemed to draw people in, a controlled wildness evident in his eyes. She watched him nod at her father as he spoke of hearing all about the young Stark’s feats as both a military strategist and commander. The tale of the Young Wolf is one well known by the people of Westeros. Him and his bastard brother, Jon Snow, were said to fight like the Warrior come to life. The battlefield a playing ground, in which they will dance to the melody of clashing blades.

 

 

Her father moved along to greet the Lord and Lady of the Dreadfort next. The same simple pleasantries occurred between them, as he congratulated them on the recent joining of their houses. They both reciprocated in kind, acting with utmost propriety. Though, Myrcella couldn’t help but notice the nervous glance the lady threw at her second brother. It was slight enough that she doubted anyone else had caught it, but having grown up at court, Myrcella saw how she stiffened and leant closer to her husband.

 

 

What happened next, came as a bit of a blur. Her father kept moving down the line of Starks greeting them in turn. The only thing that occurred out of the ordinary was how he lingered for a second longer as he reached the Lord’s second daughter. She saw him quickly shake his head and proceed as if nothing happened. As soon as he finished, her mother and her siblings went to follow suit in greeting the family.Walking closer to the family, she can’t help but feel a pair of eyes intently following her movements.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I would love to hear what you think of the chapter, suggestions would be more than welcomed and a kudos is much appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!! I'm really sorry again for the long wait. I swear I always promise myself to update then end up procrastinating for too long. I have been having quite a lot of work lately, so I'm hoping that will be an slightly acceptable excuse. For anyone that might be following this story, thank you so much for being patient and waiting for me to update the next chapter. I will try to be better at consistently posting (but no promises)
> 
> I promise I will finally move along with the story next chapter and not just go around in circles with different POVs of this scene. I hope that you all out there enjoy :)

**WINTERFELL**

 

Looking around, Robb carefully schooled his features to portray the mask of ice he had crafted carefully throughout the years, not wanting to give away any of the thoughts frantically running through his head. He had watched the endless trail of wagons, horses and men flood into the yard, the air seeming to buzz with the newly found excitement. He took in his surroundings, feeling his senses sharpen at the face of unknown adversaries, never knowing when a threat may arise in the sea of strangers. He did not trust these southron lords, whom are often corrupted with greed and ambition, willing to do whatever it takes to rise in station.

 

 

Robb could sense Grey Wind beside him, feeling the irritation coming from the wolf as the royal procession rode in. His wolf had gone as far as bearing his teeth, releasing a low growl under his breath. He was shocked to find that it was directed at one of the princes, he did not seem to recall which one he was. Robb studied the boy, his scrawny build, pale skin and permanent sneer making him stick out from the other two young men. They were clearly brothers, there was no doubt about it. They all had the same dark locks sticking out from the grey landscape of the his home. Robb decided to fix his gaze straight ahead, once more, awaiting the King to dismount and greet his parents.

 

 

He could not help but stare. The giant, boisterous man is every bit the man his father had described, give or take a few streaks of grey and subtle wrinkles around his eyes. Robb was rather taken aback with his jovial frankness, having expected his that father exaggerated the extent of his friend’s nature. The King had practically leaped of his horse, proceeding to embrace his parents without any hesitation, engulfing them so tight that it seemed as if their bones might crack. Robb could not help but feel amused, having to fight the urge to chuckle, at what he had just witnessed. It is not everyday that one would see a person act so brazenly, so it was no wonder why it would be quite the shock to see anyone, much less the King, abandon all curtesy.

 

 

Though it may seem unconventional for someone high in station to behave in such a manner, the King did not look deterred at the slightest. Surely having the confidence to take no notice of the opinions of others. It is either that or he simply did not care for their perceptions. Robb found it rather refreshing to see someone act so openly. He concluded that it would be safe to say that King Robert Baratheon is not hiding any ill intentions that would harm his family or his people. That allowed him to let down some of his guard, relaxing in the slightest bit. However, the same could not be said for the rest of the court.

 

 

“You must be Robb,” the King said as he turned away from the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Robb looked at Robert Baratheon straight in the eyes, standing tall and proud.

 

 

“Yes, your grace,” he replied, dipping his head as a sign of respect.

 

 

“Ahh! I have heard bountiful things about you,” the King exclaimed, the excitement growing in the man.

 

 

“All good things I hope,” he countered without much thought, the words seemingly slipping out through his indifferent facade.

 

 

The King let out his booming laugh once more, “Of course, lad.” He clapped him on the shoulder looking rather amused. “There isn’t a man in the whole bloody Seven Kingdoms that hasn’t heard the valiant tales of how the Young Wolf and his brother took down a Wildling army thrice the number of their own men with nothing but a scratch. Not to mention how you got rid of Roose Bolton’s damn bastard. You will have to tell me all about is later. It has been too long since I’ve heard a good war story. Mind you, more often than not, the stories have been twisted into idle fantasies for stupid girls to swoon upon. I would like to hear about how you acquired that glorious beast of your’s as well.” With a clap on the shoulder and a final chuckle, the King turned to address the remainder of the Starks.

 

 

Robb had nodded along at the King’s words, unsure of what to make of the man’s recognition. Truth be told, Robb never would have thought that the battle would spread beyond the boundaries of the North, much less mark him to be a hero throughout Westeros. The stories now told about him were a kin to those of gallant knights in one of those ballads that use to enamour Sansa and her friends. It very much goes to show how this world of theirs craved the presence of justice and valour amongst the dishonest and treacherous reality.

 

 

He returned to his original stance, staring straight ahead at the eldest prince, now arm in arm with who Robb presumed to be the princess. They were a striking sight as they stood arm in arm. Just as he and Sansa were perfect mirrors of each other, the princess was her brother’s female equivalent. He was strong where she was graceful, and she was lean where he was built like a bull. They had matching ebony hair and eyes bluer than the limitless sky and bottomless oceans combined.

 

 

Robb had been unable to take a good look at them previously, him being slightly obscured by his pompous brother, as well as his titan of a father, and her having been locked away in the wheel house with the queen. The Baratheons had often claimed the seed is strong. Looking at them now, he would say it is done rightfully so. Sure there were some traces of their Lannister heritage, like the slight upturn of her nose and the dramatic arcs of their eyebrows, but the might of the lion seem to have been drowned out by the fury of the stag.

 

 

He couldn’t help but notice that she stuck out from the other ladies that came with the procession, not giggling and whispering amongst themselves at the abundance of eligible suitors present. It may be argued that it was thanks to the fact that she was a princess. However, Robb thought quite the opposite. Her station and wealth should have made her even more so the entitled and simpering lady, and yet her she was. Not staring at him like a creature beneath her or even a piece of meat, but as just another boy in the crowd. It was a rather refreshing and welcomed shock to find a response such as this amidst the chaos in Winterfell at the moment. It was an even greater shock that the princess, Myrcella he believed her name was, had been gazing at him just the same, studying him as he had done to her.

 

 

The heir of the throne, however, seemed to have his mind occupied elsewhere, Robb having noticed him throw numerous quick glances down the line of Starks. He had come to the conclusion that he had merely been looking at Arya, most likely due to her less than conventional attire. There did not seem to be any malice laced in his stares, possibly looking solely out of curiosity.

 

 

The queen had greeted him next. Robb graciously bowed and kissed her outstretched hand, not wanting to play into the perception of Northerners lacking all courtly courtesies. She had a seemingly permanent sneer on her face, however, the lack of further distain in her eyes told him that he had not done anything particularly horrendous to warrant her offence just yet. She moved on quickly, leaving him to greet the royal children before they can show their guest to their rooms.

 

 

The eldest prince approached him shortly, offering a firm handshake and a nod. To his amusement, the prince had rejected his attempts to call him by his proper address, opting to request simply being called Gendry. The prince continued to shock him by expressing that he wanted to get to know him better, claiming that their fathers were friends and there is no reason they should not be. His blunt nature had roused Robb to let out a laugh. Robb thinks that he would undoubtedly enjoy his company, relieved to not have to put up with a snob for the duration of the royal visit. With promises of a ride and a tour of the land, Gendry moved on to greet the others.

 

 

Robb was still chuckling when the second prince appeared in front of him, spoiling his jovial mood. Joffrey, this one was called, had looked upon him like scum, not even worth to grace his presence. He had more of his mother than all his other siblings, his eyes slightly greener than the others, and a look of disgust evidently plastered across his face.He had sauntered off, leaving Robb with a rage bubbling inside him. It instantly cooled down as the next figure stopped in front of him, her eyes meeting his.

 

 

“It is an honour to meet you, princess,” he addressed her, taking her hand and planting a kiss on her knuckles, as he dropped into a bow.

 

 

“And you as well, Lord Stark,” the princess replied, with a slight curtsy, her voice sure, yet sweet. “Though, I do prefer to be called Myrcella,” she continued, “I must say it is a miracle I still know it, seeing as people tend to forgo it in exchange for princess or the very proper, your grace.”

 

 

His face broke out into a grin, already beyond entertained by her quips. “Well, we musn’t have that, it would be a shame to forget such a lovely name,” he remarked back, noticing the humour behind her eyes as she saw his willingness to participate in her little game. “If I must be subjected to calling you by your name, then I must insist you return the favour,” he added, “being called Lord Stark does tend to make me feel rather old.”

 

 

Myrcella was now fully smiling at him, letting out a full laugh, as opposed to the controlled giggle most ladies sported. “Will do, Robb Stark,” she nodded at him, as if having struck a deal, “it is only fair.” He was getting increasingly more engaged at her antics, her remarks keeping him well on his toes. “However,” she continued, “it does amaze me that you are yet to use it, if it is as lovely as you claimed it to be.”

 

 

Letting out a loud chuckle, Robb countered back, “Seeing as you asked so nicely, it is an honour to be able to call you by your name Myrcella.” Her name feeling right coming from his mouth, his northern drawl slightly changing the sound of the three syllables. “Would I be so bold as to request to escort you to the feast tonight?” Robb asked rather wistfully. “Only if it pleases you, of course,” he made sure to add.

 

“I think that I would like that very much,” she said, gracing him with a final smile, before walking off to greet Sansa, who was staring at him with a rather smug look.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I would love to hear what you think of the chapter, suggestions would be more than welcomed and a kudos is always much, much appreciated.


End file.
